


Light Dreaming

by RomanceOnExpress



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-22
Updated: 2014-03-22
Packaged: 2018-01-16 13:52:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1349749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RomanceOnExpress/pseuds/RomanceOnExpress
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alcohol and good times tend to lend one to pass out and have vivid hallucinations. All par for the course.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Light Dreaming

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place during the Citadel DLC.

Zaeed usually knew a fantasy when he was in one. Especially after a night of drinks and bad ideas. The dreams tended to be quiet, settled bits of recently desired reality. So when he found himself on Shepard’s plush couch with the very beautiful Samara wrapped under his arm, he didn’t question. No need. With a lack of memory as to how they got so cozy, he instinctually knew the answer.

He’ll admit, Asari were feisty she-devils that he well learned to keep his guard around. Even Liara gave him a sense of caution. Natural biotics were a bitch, even when you did expect them. But for this particular time he’ll ignore his normal rules, instead opening himself to it, warmly smiling down to the palest of blue eyes. The fire rolled naturally in front of them, another tell. None of the electronic crap Shepard had during the party. Heat radiated onto them, toasting them comfortably under the thin blanket while providing the only light in the otherwise dim apartment.

He didn’t speak at all, instead promising the fantasy its purpose. Words would shatter the peace between the Justicar and him.

After a bit of time passing, enough so that the flames began to look repetitive and the room began to haze, Zaeed began considering his situation. Not the one involving the pretty Justicar, but rather the one about how he got to this point with himself. A lot of booze, certainly. Probably a lot of embarrassing words in front of females. One particular female. Likely a confession or admonishment to twist his subconscious into this fantasy. Memories were blank on his recollection, so the mercenary could only assume the worst of his behaviour.

His head began to pain, dull at his spine, piercing in his temples. A groan gave his normally sharpened senses a challenge, and somewhere from the back of his mind reality settled in as the dream faded. He took notice of the smell of night-old alcohol and fresh eggs, with the hint of something very vile and most likely of Krogan origin hanging over it. Noiselessness was next, gradually becoming a quiet ringing and the popping sound of a pan frying food. He mentally thanked whoever it was who turned off the bloody music from last night. He’d of killed something otherwise, surely.

He pushed himself up from the floor, at the base of the couch, and let his stomach roll its courses. He couldn’t remember anything from last night past meeting Shepard’s newest unfortunates, knew he wouldn’t, but still held onto the theme of the dream. Perhaps he could try with Samara later, when he was sober and not growling at everything around him. Or he could hope that he just thought he did something stupid and drunken and pretend that nothing really did happen. That could work too. 


End file.
